


Serial Killer

by wheel_pen



Series: Agent and Doctor [13]
Category: The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy goes undercover as a serial killer, or at least someone pretending to be a serial killer. Per usual he prepares very thoroughly, with fake tattoos, weight loss, and “creepy eyes.” When he gets back, however, he has a difficult time shaking off the character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serial Killer

“Wow, crowded today,” Dr. Kedar noted unnecessarily, looking around the cafeteria searchingly.

“Yeah, usually I eat a little earlier to avoid the rush,” Rachel admitted. Then she spotted a lone figure at a table for four near the windows. “Oh, there’s Jeremy, we could probably sit with him,” she suggested innocently, knowing what the other doctor’s reaction was likely to be.

Predictably, he grimaced. “Um… we could squeeze a couple chairs on the end of that table over there,” he countered, indicating one already overcrowded cluster of people.

Rachel was not tempted. “We might as well just sit on the floor,” she judged. “I’ll go see if Jeremy wants company.”

“He looks really angry,” Dr. Kedar said.

“He just has an angry-looking resting face,” Rachel insisted. “If he was really angry he wouldn’t be here having lunch, he’d be in the gym pulverizing a punching bag.”

This was not designed to make Dr. Kedar feel better. “I think I’ll sit over here,” he demurred.

“Okay,” Rachel shrugged. “Catch you later.” They weren’t actually having lunch together, after all, they’d just gotten in line at the same time. She carried her tray over to Jeremy’s table. “Hi, Jeremy.”

“Hello, Dr. Ward,” he responded immediately, not sounding at all angry. “Would you like to sit here?”

“Thank you, I would.” He hopped up and took her tray for her, arranging the dishes on the table while she sat. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything?” he asked solicitously.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Rachel assured him, so he sat back down and continued his lunch, mostly fruit and vegetables. He was losing weight—muscle mass—for a mission, and also growing his hair out, especially his bangs; they kept falling down in front of his face as he tried to eat.

Jeremy gave a stony look to someone else who drifted too close to their table and the person scurried away. “What’s with the loner vibes, tiger?” Rachel wanted to know. “Am I bothering you? You can tell me.”

“No, I want you to sit with me,” Jeremy promised. “I’m practicing for my mission,” he added, with the tiniest tinge of excitement.

“So you’re going undercover as… a creepy serial killer type?” Rachel guessed, only half joking.

The way he narrowed his eyes at her was not comforting. “What makes you say that?” he evaded.

“Well… kind of a stereotype, I guess,” she admitted. “Skinny guy in a wifebeater with long, shaggy hair and a creepy vibe. Kind of screams, ‘Come to my trailer so I may dismember you.’” Jeremy looked at her for a long moment. “Sorry, not what you were going for?” Rachel finally asked.

“I’m not supposed to say,” he answered, and Rachel smirked as she decided she must have been spot-on.

Best not to wonder _why_ Jeremy was being sent undercover as a creepy serial killer. Hopefully— _really_ hopefully—he was merely _pretending_ to be one. For some unknown reason.

“I’m going to stop washing my hair, so it gets stringy,” he went on, with mild eagerness. “And, I’m going to get some fake tattoos.”

“Oh really?” Rachel asked with interest. Jeremy was very detail-oriented.

“Yes, I was thinking something slightly obscene, with an ex-girlfriend’s name on it,” he mused thoughtfully.

“Oh, I have an idea,” Rachel told him. “What about a sweet tattoo with the girlfriend’s name, and then when she became an ex, you had it altered in some violent way. Like a knife stabbing through a heart. Or, it was just her name, and now it’s her name… on a _tombstone_.” She wondered momentarily if she sounded too enthusiastic about this.

Jeremy blinked at her, which could mean anything. “Those are good ideas,” he decided. She wasn’t sure if he was just humoring her or not.

She pressed on anyway. “Well, I’ve got another idea,” she told him. “Maybe it would work for you sometime.” He listened attentively. “So, I used to work in Florida at this hospital that got a lot of prisoners and people in police custody—“

“St. Petersburg Secure Medical Facility,” Jeremy specified.

“That’s right, Nosy Parker,” she agreed. Jeremy had studied her file closely. “So we had this guy there for a while, who was a really terrible person, he’d done all these violent things and was just nasty and rude. And he had all these tattoos.” Jeremy nodded. “Most of them were really bad. But on his arm, he had this one that was different. It said something like Sparky or Snuffy, some really cute name, and there was a pawprint next to it, and the pawprint was made of little hearts. It was really adorable and sweet.”

“It was for his dog?” Jeremy guessed.

“Yes!” Rachel agreed. “I asked him about it once and he told me he’d had this dog and he loved it so much, and it got hit by a dump truck years ago. And he would tear up whenever he talked about it.” Rachel shook her head. “In some ways it was really humanizing, it reminded you he was a real person even though he’d done awful things. But in other ways, it made it worse,” she added, “because you were like, ‘Well, you’re _capable_ of being kind and loving to something, you just choose _not_ to be most of the time.’”

Jeremy nodded thoughtfully. “Did you find out later that really, he’d _killed_ the dog?”

“Uh, no,” Rachel admitted. “Although I suppose that _would_ put an awesomely horrible twist on the story.” And now she was beginning to worry about the macabre ideas she’d put in Jeremy’s head. He looked far too excited about them, in his mild way. “Um, maybe we should talk about something more normal,” she suggested awkwardly.

“I find this topic relevant,” Jeremy protested. “Can you tell me more stories about working at the St. Petersburg Secure Medical Facility? Is that where you formed your stereotype about serial killers?”

Rachel sighed and wondered what Dr. Kedar’s lunch conversation was like.

**

Rachel liked the on-site gym all employees could use. She was not so fond of ‘all employees’ including agents, because they always made her feel like a lazy slob with their effortless jogging and alarming flexibility. Also, using the group locker room was not her thing (even though, oddly, the female agents had their own separate one from the regular female staff); but fortunately she had her own private bathroom in her office. It was just a matter of sneaking up there via the back stairs after her workout, so she didn’t have to walk through the halls looking sweaty and disheveled to everyone she passed.

“Hello, Dr. Ward. Oh, sorry,” Jeremy told her, after his sudden appearance from a shadowy stairwell corner shot her heart rate up faster than the treadmill had.

“I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone,” she explained a little self-consciously, trying to gather up her hair better. “I was just at the gym.”

“I know, I followed you from there,” Jeremy informed her.

“That was—four flights down,” Rachel pointed out.

“I’m practicing my stalking skills. You didn’t notice me, did you?”

“No,” she assured him dryly. “You are definitely going to be the _best_ creepy serial killer who stalks his victims first.” If only she could have a ‘quote board’ for this job.

“I didn’t say that’s what I was,” he pointed out cagily, following her up the next flight of stairs.

“No, I’m just guessing,” she agreed. “You must be about ready to leave, didn’t you reach your weight goal?” He nodded; he still had some muscles but there was definitely a ranginess about him, like a stray dog desperate to survive. “Well, I know it’s for a mission, but I’ll be glad when you come back and put some more meat on those bones,” she told him, exiting on her floor. “Hey, Red.” She and Jeremy had to pass the ID check—she had forced herself to get used to one or two guards not seeing her at her best.

“Hey, Dr. Ward,” the guard replied cheerfully. “Green!” he added to Jeremy.

“Red,” Jeremy said in return, causing the guard to chuckle good-naturedly. Jeremy didn’t really seem to get the humor.

“And how did you get your hair to grow so long?” Rachel asked as they took a shortcut to her office. “Is it real?”

“I just thought about it really hard,” Jeremy claimed.

“Okay then.” Rachel swiped her ID card at the door to the outer office and peeked in to see if Jenny was at her desk. She wasn’t, so Rachel breezed through to the exam room and her own office without discomfort. Okay, it was downright silly to be intimidated by your own nurse, but in terms of appearance Jenny always looked so stylish yet appropriate that at times like these Rachel felt very awkward.

Yeah, still silly.

Naturally Jeremy had followed her. “I have a suggestion,” Rachel decided. Whatever miniscule part of his attention _hadn’t_ been focused on her now was. “Well, I don’t know what personality you’re going for in this undercover work, exactly, but maybe it would be better if…” She reached up and brushed his hair away from his face a little bit. “Oh, sorry about the smell.”

“You smell nice,” Jeremy asserted.

Rachel decided not to think about that comment any further. “I get the creepy hair thing,” she explained, “but maybe you want people to see your face a little more, to get the full effect of the big, creepy eyes. Is that some kind of trick with make-up, or--?”

“Exercise,” he said randomly. His eyes _did_ look bigger than normal, she was certain of it.

“Well, come on, give me the creepy eyes,” Rachel insisted gamely.

Jeremy frowned. “I am.”

Rachel frowned. “No, you don’t look creepy.” She stepped back, then forward again. “No, you just look _sad_ , like you were the kid everyone else picked on. It makes me want to hug you. But I _won’t_ ,” Rachel added, when he looked amenable to this, “because I need to take a shower.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she agreed. “Try again with the creepy eyes, this could be the key to the whole mission.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Jeremy suspected.

Rachel smiled. “In a nice way,” she assured him.

But now he was worried. “You really didn’t think those were creepy eyes?”

“Sorry, tiger,” Rachel admittedly regretfully. “Probably other people would, though. Why don’t you walk all around the building trying them on people?”

“I have been.” He seemed flummoxed by this development. “Everyone else had the appropriate reaction.”

“Well, don’t take it personally, buddy,” she dismissed. “You’ll be doing them on people who don’t know you at all, I’m sure they’ll work fine. Now, I gotta take my shower before my next appointment, so…”

“Let me try again,” Jeremy insisted.

“Okay,” Rachel shrugged, “but I’m gonna start getting ready, so hurry up.” She headed for her closet where she’d hung the suit she’d worn that morning. Maybe she needed to be a little more careful in her comments to him, she reminded herself—he took his mission prep very seriously, and his sense of humor wasn’t very keen. There was no sense worrying him about minor details, which he was already probably worried about.

“Dr. Ward.”

“You ready?” she asked, hooking the suit’s hangers over the bathroom door.

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s see it,” Rachel declared, leaning back out of the bathroom. And then she drew in a sharp breath and stepped backwards, her body leaping to a primal state of alert as she saw the creature in the other room. It looked like something that wanted to rip her apart, slowly, and enjoy every moment of it. She could practically see the images playing out behind its eyes.

Then it shook itself and became Jeremy again. “Dr. Ward? Was that creepy?” he asked eagerly.

She wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Yes’ seemed so terribly inadequate. He took a step towards her and she froze, so he did too, then proceeded forward more slowly. “I think you succeeded,” she finally said. She didn’t even feel like making a joke about it.

“I’m just going undercover,” he reminded her softly, pausing at the bathroom door. “It’s not really me.”

Rachel smiled, shakily, and pushed his hair back. The long hair made him look younger somehow, though in a lost, melancholy, vulnerable sort of way. Clearly Jeremy and the people who advised him were experts at such image manipulation. “Yeah, I know, tiger,” she finally said.

“I might not see you again before I leave on my mission,” Jeremy went on.

“That soon, huh?”

“Yes. I got my Snuffy tattoo,” he added. He shrugged off one sleeve of his outer shirt and rolled up the t-shirt sleeve to display Snuffy’s name in puffy, cloud-like font, complete with the pawprint made of hearts.

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Rachel agreed.

“I have several stories prepared about Snuffy, but I won’t tell them to you because they’re very sad,” he decided. “Also I don’t think you need to see the other tattoos.” He covered the rest of his arm quickly.

“Thanks,” Rachel smirked. “Well, um, good luck being the creepy serial killer.” The comment did not really seem funny anymore.

“Thank you.” Jeremy nodded, then turned to leave. Rachel thought about asking him how he’d managed the terrifying transformation, then decided she really didn’t want to know. As soon as she heard the door shut behind him she traced his path through the exam room and made sure the door was locked. And the office door. And the bathroom door. An irrational stab of paranoia, perhaps, but it made her feel a little better.

**

Director Delu met her at the elevator. “Dr. Ward, sorry to bother you,” he began. Rachel relaxed a little—he didn’t sound overly worried, and she didn’t see Director Quarles anywhere, so the problem likely wasn’t that serious. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him as they walked down the hall. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh, we’re just a little concerned about Jeremy, that’s all,” he relayed lightly.

Figured. “He’s back from his mission? Is he hurt?” she wanted to know.

“I don’t think so,” Delu replied. “He was told to stand down over an hour ago, and he’s just having a little trouble decompressing from his mission.” They stopped in front of the observation room window.

“I’ll say,” Rachel agreed dryly. Several pieces of equipment had been pulled together and some blankets were draped over them, all the way to the floor, to make a little cave that Jeremy was presumably hiding under.

“We call it _forting_ ,” Delu pronounced carefully. Rachel glanced at him. “Like kids build forts with blankets and furniture? Sometimes it’s a reaction to stress. They feel more secure in an enclosed space.”

“Uh-huh,” Rachel commented. “It’s a little weird. But it seemed like he was going undercover as a rather—disturbing person, so…”

“Mmm,” Delu evaded. “Undercover missions can be very intense for the agents, they prepare so thoroughly.”

“And Jeremy is very thorough,” Rachel agreed. “So, should I go in there?”

“Yes, if you’d like to,” Delu allowed, typing in the keycode to the outer door. “Just make sure he’s okay, see if you can get him to come out.”

Rachel thought those were good, if obvious, goals and waited impatiently for the inner door to open. She walked over to the front of Fort Jeremy and bent down, looking for any gaps she could see through. “Jeremy?” she said. “Jeremy, are you under there?” Well, where else would he be, but it seemed better phrased as a question. “Come on, tiger, answer me. Are you okay?”

Nothing. With a sigh Rachel got down on her knees on the floor, thinking about how if she’d wanted to crawl through pretend forts she would’ve become a preschool teacher. She lifted a corner of a blanket, trying to see under it without spoiling his hidey-hole. “Jeremy?” She thought she saw something move inside, black on black. “Jeremy, are you okay?” This was going nowhere fast. Rachel laid down on the floor and reached her arm under the blanket as far as she could, trying to make contact with him.

On the other side of the window Director Delu watched with a feeling of trepidation. “Dr. Ward,” he warned over the intercom, “maybe you shouldn’t—“

Suddenly something grabbed her arm and pulled her completely under, out of sight.

“Dr. Ward? Dr. Ward!”

“It’s okay!” he heard her shout, in a muffled tone, from under the blankets. “I’m fine!”

Which was great of course, but he had a feeling the situation had just escalated to the next level. “Get Dr. Zhu down here,” he ordered an assistant.

Rachel was sitting awkwardly at the back of the blanket tent, the wall behind her the only way she could orient herself in the pitch blackness. One was so rarely in pitch blackness these days, with all the ambient light from electronics and streetlamps and so forth—it was quite disconcerting to be looking around, unable to tell if your eyes were actually opened or closed.

“Jeremy?” Rachel said once again. She sensed movement nearby and turned towards it. “Jeremy, I’m not saying your name for the fun of it,” she pointed out. “I’d appreciate it if you answered me.”

“Hello, Dr. Ward,” purred a voice in her ear, making her jump. But when she reached in that direction she felt nothing.

“Thank you,” she told him anyway. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Her other ear, and then he was gone again.

They were going to play the little ‘bounce around a dark room’ game, then. Well, she didn’t find that very enjoyable. Rachel pulled a penlight from her pocket and shown it around the cave. For an instant it illuminated Jeremy’s face, in an unexpected location, and if he wasn’t giving her the full-on creepy look it was a good dry run. She was almost glad when the light was snatched from her hand a moment later and extinguished.

“ _Dr. Ward?_ ” Director Delu checked.

“I’m fine!” Rachel called to him, hoping he could hear her. “Just trapped in the dark with a Method actor worse than Jack Nicholson,” she added in a mutter. “There is no need to bury yourself in the part, Jeremy,” she advised him. “Show’s over, time to go home.”

“I _am_ home,” he hissed, darting away before she could grab him.

She started scooting towards what she thought might be the front entrance. “Glad you recognize that, tiger,” she noted dryly. “But don’t you think you’d be more comfortable in my office, or your room?”

“No.” His breath was hot in her ear and he gave her a little push that changed her direction so she wasn’t sure which way to crawl.

“Why not?” Rachel asked through gritted teeth, willing herself to remain patient. He wasn’t doing this to be obnoxious, he was upset about something and trying to express it in his own instinctive way. “What’s the appeal of the hobbit hole, buddy?”

“You sound like Dr. Zhu,” he murmured, turning her around again.

“One, there’s no need to be insulting,” Rachel informed him stiffly. “And two, I highly doubt Dr. Zhu would say anything about hobbit holes.”

“She doesn’t call me buddy, either,” he noted wryly. But he humored the question. “It’s warm, dark, and safe here.” Exactly as Director Delu had explained.

“Well, it’s definitely warm,” Rachel agreed, taking off her lab coat. “And definitely dark.”

He appeared behind her, when she could’ve sworn she was leaning against the wall. “What’s wrong, Dr. Ward?” he whispered. “Don’t you feel _safe_ here?” Then he vanished.

Rachel had had just about all she was going to take of this nonsense. “Jeremy, can the theatrics,” she snapped. “You might’ve got me with the creepy eyes before, but the creepy voice isn’t gonna cut it. It’s just silly.”

She sensed he was pouting. The darkness gave off a very sulky vibe. Then suddenly his head was in her lap and his arms around her, and he seemed much more normal somehow.

“That’s better,” she praised him, running her hands through his still-long hair. “Now, seriously, are you hurt?”

“No,” he mumbled against her.

“Tough mission, huh, tiger,” she understated. He shrugged.

“ _Dr. Ward?_ ” said a new voice over the intercom, and they both cringed. Jeremy made a noise of indignant protest.

“Yes, I can’t imagine why anyone would think _you_ needed a psychiatrist,” Rachel hissed at him. “Everything’s fine! It’s okay!” she called back. He whined. “Well, point me to the front, then, so I don’t have to shout.”

With a melodramatic sigh Jeremy scrunched them in a particular direction and Rachel saw, finally, a glimmer of light, almost illusory against the featureless black. Jeremy only let her get close enough to slide one hand out, though. She gave a thumbs-up.

“ _Dr. Ward_ ,” Dr. Zhu began inquisitively, “ _is Jeremy behaving in an aggressive manner?_ ”

Let’s see, he’d dragged her under his blanket fort, tried to intimidate her with scary voices, and was now curled up behind her restricting her movements so she couldn’t escape. “No, he’s fine,” she answered.

“ _Is he sexually aroused?_ ” Dr. Zhu continued clinically, and Rachel was glad for a second that no one could see her face.

“No,” she replied emphatically.

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Dr. Zhu had the temerity to ask. “ _Did_ _you check?_ ”

“Yeah,” Rachel claimed acidly. “You wanna come in here and double-check?” Jeremy seemed oblivious to the conversation as he sniffed her hair avidly. Frankly, she _hoped_ he was oblivious.

“ _Dr. Ward, I think we’re all getting just a bit nervous here_ ,” Director Delu commented with forced casualness. “ _Why don’t you come on out now?_ ”

‘Why not’ was Jeremy clamped around her like some kind of multi-tentacled sea creature. Dr. Zhu would have a field day with _that_ imagery. “I think Jeremy feels better under here right now,” she told them. “He might fall asleep,” she added hopefully.

“Probably sexually aroused,” Dr. Zhu judged to Delu. “Classic bondage scenario.”

He glanced at her dubiously. “Uh, Dr. Ward, we’d really like to see you and make sure you’re okay,” he insisted over the intercom.

“Stop, get off,” she hissed at Jeremy, squirming away from him. She raised a corner of a blanket and almost gave a thumbs-up again before he quashed it. “Honestly, stop. How about sending in some oranges?” she suggested in a louder tone. “I think Jeremy would really like that. Happy?” she whispered to him. “Stop leaning on my hair.”

“Oranges contain vitamins and minerals—“

“I know!”

“Excellent idea, Dr. Ward,” Delu was assuring her over the intercom. He gestured emphatically to the assistants around him. “We’ll put some in a pass-through immediately.” He muted the intercom and pointed to a pass-through on the opposite wall that was _not_ blocked by Jeremy’s tent. “Put them in that one,” he ordered. “Make someone come out and get them.” He flipped the intercom back on. “They’re in B3.”

“B3,” Rachel muttered. “Which one’s B3? Oh, that’s the rectangular one—somewhere.” She was not exactly sure of her directions in here.

“It’s outside my fort,” Jeremy informed her. “I’ll get them.” He embraced her suddenly. “Please don’t try to get away.”

“Oh _why_ would I want to do _that_ ,” Rachel responded flatly.

Jeremy scooted away, sliding out from beneath a blanket and scurrying over to the wall panel. “Hi, Jeremy,” Delu told him cheerfully. “How are you feeling?” This was ignored.

Meanwhile, Rachel was trying to crawl towards the flash of light she’d seen. Thoughtfully, Jeremy had left obstacles in her path that she quickly ran into, like heavy boxes and crackling paper. Finally she felt a curtain hanging in front of her and started to pull it aside.

Just on the other side, Jeremy snarled in protest. “I am not trying to get away, Psycho Sam,” she told him with exasperation. “Just chill.” She was sure the observers could hear her, even if Jeremy hadn’t let them _see_ her. He rolled two oranges under the blanket and she picked them up when they bumped her leg. “Thanks for the oranges, Director,” she called. “I think they’ll really help calm him down.”

Delu was about to reply when Jeremy turned to face the window and gave them the most terrifying look he’d ever seen. Then he dived back into his cave.

Delu was silent for a few seconds, then he glanced over at Dr. Zhu to see if she was feeling the same way. Her expression said she was. “Was that just the _creepiest_ d—n thing—“

“It was creepy as f—k,” the psychiatrist agreed unprofessionally. Then she scribbled some notes. “That was recorded, right? I’ll want to study it later.”

Delu never wanted to see it again, but he felt that it would probably be drifting back into his mind over and over again, say when he was working late, alone, at the office. “Call Director Quarles,” he told one of his assistants reluctantly.

“I wonder if he’ll kill her the same way he did his other victims,” Dr. Zhu mused, “or if she’ll merit special treatment.”

“Green didn’t kill _anyone_ , that was _Conner_ ,” Delu reminded her sharply. “Who is currently on a slab in our morgue.”

“Green studied _everything_ about Conner,” Dr. Zhu countered. “Every detail, to impersonate him. To _become_ him. He absorbed his essence. He may have gone too far this time.” She scribbled a few more notes, sounding almost eager to see what happened next.

“It’s _your_ job to make sure he _doesn’t_ go too far,” he snapped at her. “Like killing staff members!” Sometimes he seriously wondered who was crazier, the agents or their psychiatrist.

Dr. Zhu shrugged. “Well, I can’t predict everything.”

Back in what Rachel had dubbed the ‘cave of evil,’ she and Jeremy were having a little argument about proximity. “It is _too hot_ ,” she insisted, shoving him back to arm’s length. “Are you trying to smother me?”

He settled on her sitting between his legs, leaning back against one knee with her legs over his other one. “Now I can feel every move you make,” he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes in the dark. “Are you peeling that orange?” she reminded him. “Because I want some.”

“Yes,” he assured her. “Dr. Ward, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think you need to work on your self-defense methods.”

“Oh really,” Rachel replied dryly. “Are you planning to kidnap me and restrain me in a dark, horrible place anytime soon?”

“My research shows sarcasm is generally not effective against most aggressors,” Jeremy informed her, “and may in fact aggravate them further.”

She patted his leg in the dark. “Good thing you’re not most aggressors, then.”

“Here’s an orange wedge.” She could smell it in front of her face but couldn’t figure out where to reach for it. “Just open your mouth,” he suggested, feeding it to her.

“Thanks,” Rachel mumbled around the orange. “I can’t believe you can see in this.”

“I’m serious, Dr. Ward.”

“You sound it, tiger.”

“A real serial killer would probably kill you first,” he decided, “because your sarcastic comments would exacerbate his feelings of insecurity and powerlessness. And if he killed you first,” he added, “then I wouldn’t be able to rescue you.”

He sounded very sad about this, understandably so Rachel supposed, except for the absurdly far-fetched underlying situation. She made a noise of appreciation anyway. “Aww, that’s sweet, tiger.” She moved her hand from his leg to his chest and felt his legs squeeze, trying to pull her closer. He was starting to sound more normal though, in her opinion—actual conversation instead of low-rent horror movie tricks. “You’ve lost more weight,” she realized with disapproval. “Let’s get out of here and grab some hamburgers, huh? And get your hair cut.”

“I like it shorter,” he agreed. “I’m going to buzz it all off. Do you like it that short?”

“I think a buzz is the way to go,” she agreed, remembering how greasy his hair had felt earlier when he had his head in her lap. “I think you achieved your unkempt goal. Let’s just get rid of it and start over.”

“But then, do you like it better really short, or a little longer?” he persisted as Rachel sighed.

Outside in the hall Director Quarles was watching previous footage of Dr. Ward getting dragged into the fort and Agent Green’s alarming expression. Dr. Zhu watched with him, but Delu didn’t need to see it again, especially the second part. “So, are we talking a psychotic break here or what?” he demanded.

“He hasn’t really been violent,” Delu pointed out.

“He could be doing anything to Dr. Ward,” Dr. Zhu reminded them. She sounded more eager than concerned.

“She always says she’s fine,” Delu insisted.

“Didn’t she ever have a dog that got hurt and crawled under the porch?” Quarles asked with annoyance. “Didn’t her father ever say, leave it alone, don’t reach under there, it’ll come out on its own?”

“Dr. Ward probably crawled in after the dog,” Delu predicted dryly.

“And miraculously healed it,” Quarles added, rolling his eyes. “So what’s happening in there? Is he holding her hostage, or are they playing house?” Of course no one could answer that. He flipped on the intercom. “Dr. Ward. Agent Green.”

“We’re in trouble now,” Rachel warned as she heard Quarles’s voice.

Jeremy wrapped his arms around her. “I just want to be left alone,” he muttered in her ear. Alone with Rachel, that is.

“I know, tiger,” she assured him, rubbing his arm. “So why don’t you get your debriefing over with, then they’ll send you up to my exam room.”

“I’m scared.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Rachel promised, though she suspected it wasn’t anything external he was afraid of.

“I know,” he agreed.

“So can we go?” Rachel checked. She felt him nod and she started to tug on the blankets, trying to find a loose spot. Jeremy was very good at building tents, though.

“You think they’re coming out?” Delu asked as they saw the blankets move. Then the fabric parted and fell away, revealing Rachel and Jeremy on the floor shielding their eyes against the sudden light. Dr. Zhu scribbled some notes about their positions as Delu quickly dimmed the lights in the room for them.

“Agent Green, everything alright?” Quarles asked sternly. “Ready to get on with your debriefing?”

“I guess.” Jeremy rested his chin on Rachel’s shoulder and stared through the window at them, with an expression that was still disconcerting but not outright evil at least. “I want a hamburger, though.”

“Fine,” Quarles agreed shortly. “Let Dr. Ward go.”

Jeremy disentangled himself and stood, then pulled Rachel to her feet. She tried to straighten herself up a little bit so as not to look quite so mauled, though she suspected Dr. Zhu was making extensive notes about her appearance anyway. Jeremy handed her the penlight he’d purloined earlier and her lab coat.

“You said you weren’t hurt,” she accused as she got her first good look at him. She turned his chin to see the full extent of the cuts and bruises on his face.

“They don’t really hurt,” he claimed.

“Well, you look terrible,” she judged. “Take a shower before you come see me.”

“Okay.”

The inner door hissed open so they could pass through, then the outer door, depositing them in the hallway. “Debriefing. Go,” Quarles ordered Jeremy, who shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered off down the hall with two guards not so subtly following him. Quarles turned back to Rachel. “I trust you’re unharmed, Dr. Ward?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, pulling her hair back into place.

“We were a little bit worried,” Delu hinted.

“What the h—l happened?” Quarles asked more pointedly.

“Nothing,” Rachel insisted. “You know, he takes these undercover roles very seriously, he can’t just shake them off right away. It takes a little time.”

“Dr. Ward, did Jeremy attempt to suffocate you at any point,” Dr. Zhu asked clinically, “and did he become sexually aroused while doing so?”

“Honest to G-d, that _question_ is more disturbing than anything that happened,” Rachel replied with disgust.

“Is that a yes?” Dr. Zhu wanted to know, her pen hovering over her notepad.

“ _No_!”

“Thank you, Dr. Zhu, why don’t you go prepare for your session with Green?” Quarles intervened.

“I’ll need to talk to you for my report,” the psychiatrist warned Rachel.

“I can’t wait,” she replied, trying not to sound _too_ horribly uncollegial.

Once Dr. Zhu left the two directors faced Rachel meaningfully. “What?”

“Um, thank you for extracting him, Dr. Ward,” Delu went with. “I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you.”

“No, it was fine, thanks for calling me,” Rachel told him. They seemed to want additional commentary from her. “Um, you know, Jeremy’s very sensitive. And he becomes isolated on missions, and sometimes when he gets back he just needs—“

“Cuddles?” Quarles interrupted acidly.

Rachel tried to remember this was her boss. “Reassurance,” she corrected coolly. She looked between the two of them. “Sorry, is there a problem? I thought the problem just got fixed.”

“No, no problem, Dr. Ward,” Delu told her. “Your method is very effective.”

“Until the day that it’s not,” Quarles added darkly. Not that he had any kind of personal attachment to Dr. Ward; but he was beginning to realize that if they lost _her_ , they would lose Green as well, one way or another. And he didn’t like that kind of dependency.

Rachel wasn’t sure how to take his comment. “Was there anything else?” she asked with forced politeness. “I have to go work on my report.” Her reports were always exercises in creative writing, and this one was going to be no exception.

“No, thank you, Dr. Ward,” Quarles told her. “You can go.”


End file.
